Clipped Wings
by Essence Of Reality
Summary: Hermione was sorted into Slytherin in her first year. She was convinced it must have been a mistake, but, after five years, she's learned to deal with it. But... maybe there's a reason she was supposed to be in Slytherin after all... DHr
1. Prologue: Naïve Memories

.:Prologue:.

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of J.K. Rowling's characters. I do, however, own the ones that I choose to create.**

I could feel the thrum of power magic through me, making my flesh tingle. _Never mind what I had to do to get this power_, I thought grimly.

But... somehow, I had grown immune. I had suffered so many times, why didn't others have to suffer as well? So now, here I was. Hermione, Head Girl of the Slytherins.

Sure, to my naive self of only five years ago, the title might have sounded horrifying. But now... it gave me pleasure. Pain, suffering. They were my drug. My high. Without them I would be nobody, nothing.

It had all happened so long ago...

_**Memory Flashback**_

'_Perhaps I'll be in Gryffindor. Or Ravenclaw; I do, of course, have the brains,' the young Hermione proclaimed. Her hair was bushy, brown frizz accumulating to accentuate the 'know-it-all' look._

_She had seemed so confident, so assured. On the inside she was trembling with fear. Perhaps the most frightened of all_ _the first-years. And that was what scared her the most._

_A redhead, by the name of Ronald Weasley, scoffed at her statement. 'Oh yeah? You talk big, but I bet you're just as scared as the rest of us. There's no way you would make it into Gryffindor, much less Ravenclaw. You would be lucky if Hufflepuff even took you, Granger!'_

_The remark stung, and Hermione was, for once, silent. He was right._

_She was saved the humiliation, however, when the Transfiguration Professor silenced them and ushered them into the Great Hall. Hermione, her knees trembling, complied._

_She was in line behind the redhead, and ahead of a youth with pale blond hair. She tried to look bored, but only succeeded in giving her eyes a wild glint to them._

'_Aarden, Jarred,' the Professor announced, her voice amplified by a spell of some sort. Hermione jumped in surprise. What was going to happen? Her eyes wide, she watched as the first-year approached a stool. Then, the woman professor whispered something in his ear. He nodded nervously, and she moved off to the side, her quill upraised and poised elegantly above her clipboard. Hermione was almost envious- she seemed so calm, so collected._

_Jarred lifted an old patched wizard's hat to his head and slipped it on. It was ridiculously big, the brim coming down to about mid-chin. It would have been funny if it had not been for the circumstances she was now in._

_Suddenly, a loud voice pierced the air. 'RAVENCLAW!' _It must have come from the hat!_ she realized, her eyes wide._

_Still shaking, the boy put the hat back on the stool, and headed toward the now cheering Ravenclaw table. Hermione felt relief wash over her in waves. Good. There wasn't a competition or ordeal. Just a hat. The idea seemed so absurd, she almost laughed. Lucking, it caught in her throat, and she choked slightly. The redhead glared darkly at her, then turned back to face the procession._

_Hermione felt anger rise in her, but she quickly squelched it. She would have to deal with this one later._

_Hermione waited in line with the rest of them for quite a while. The line was visibly thinning, the majority of the occupants now seated at their team's table. Hermione felt envy course through her, but that evaporated when she heard the next name called._

'_Granger, Hermione.'_

_Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Hermione ambled clumsily forward, tripping several times on the hem of her cloak. When she reached the stool, she hesitated. Staring at the hat, she felt disbelief. Shaking her head, she picked up the hat and slipped it over her head._

_After all, what could this hat tell her about herself that she didn't already know?_

'_**A lot more than you think...' **whispered a gruff voice across her mind. Hermione gasped, clutched instinctively at her head. The hat was talking... in her head!_

'**_Heh heh... Reactive, aye? Perhaps yeh'll do well in...'_**

'**_SLYTHERIN!'_**


	2. Chapter One: Icy Greetings

.:Chapter 1:.

**Disclaimer: How many times am I going to have to say this? Hermione does not belong to me. Draco does not belong to me. Neither does Ron, Harry, or any other of J. K. Rowling's characters. Only the ones I make up will be mine, and you haven't met them yet. So… no one is mine! TTTT**

That is what happened all those years ago. Five, to be exact. My parents are worried about me, especially during the summer. I mean, what am I supposed to do all summer, just wait around the house and study all the time? I don't think so.

So… I find better things to do; things that my parents don't _exactly_ approve of. But that's okay. Their lectures have about as much effect on me as a bug on a windshield- in other words, none whatsoever.

I admit, sometimes I think about my old life. When my parents and I actually used to talk, and my friends were sensible and, altogether, harmless. Now, my life is like playing with fire. Exactly the kind of life that exists in parents worst nightmares. Friends? They are definitly a thing of the past. I don't even know the meaning of 'friends' anymore.

Now, the closest things I have to friends, I suppose, would be the people I use for my own purposes.

I stared out a slightly foggy window, wiping away the condensation with the sleeve of my robe. It was dark out, not quite night, but somewhere close. Probably around five or six o'clock. We should be arriving soon.

Sure enough, I heard the announcement soon after, and quickly left the cart to change. For some reason, I couldn't stand being with the gang a second longer. I needed fresh air. Gathering the robes, I went into the bathroom and quickly discarded my jeans and black tee shirt for the white blouse and grey slacks. Then, to top it all off, I put on the cloak. I looked just like everyone else. And I resented it.

Studying my reflection, I paused. My hair was now tamer than it had been five years ago, a straight and sleek chestnut color with a few gold streaks. My eyes were amber and held a wild glint to them. Also, my skin was now tanned. Five years ago, I was scared of skin cancer, so I avoided the sun. Now… I just didn't give a damn.

Turning on my heel, I walked out. The train was stopping at the school, and the train was noisy, filled with students whispering excitedly. In fact, I was excited as well. Not as in the excitement you feel when you first go to Disney World or anything like that. I had abandoned that emotion long ago, buried it. But Hogwarts was my territory, my safe haven. _My home._

Getting in line, I quickly elbowed my way through several students, and hoped off the train.

Which is how I heard a familiar voice call over the crowd.

"_Hermione!"_

Looking up, I found myself staring into the emerald eyes of none other than Harry Potter himself. I rolled my eyes, I turned automatically back around in the direction I had been facing previously.

The sky was dark, thick grey clouds looming overhead, threatening to spill. Already droplets were beginning to fall, falling in a dizzying array upon the miserable students. My eyes closed momentarily, internally fighting the urge to lift my face up to the heavens to catch the droplets.

I had given up on such dreams long ago.

"-ione!" a breathless voice panted from directly behind me, and I felt a sharp tug to the sleeve of my robes. I glared at the persistent Gryfindor.

"What do you want, _Potter_?" My voice, I noticed with satisfaction, was noticably colder than the dismal weather we were currently drudging through.

His emerald eyes widened momentarily as they took in the disdain clearly written across my face. "O-oh.." he said, suddenly flustered. He let go of the sleeve of my robe after I pointedly glared at it, a small flush of embarrassment appearing on his face.

"Look," he began, now seeming to gain enough backbone to look me directly in the eye, "I just wanted to apologize for what happened last year. What Ron and I did was bloody stupid, and-"

"You're right," I cut in. "It _was_ 'bloody stupid', and don't fool yourself into thinking that anything you say will make me forget it any time soon. Your timid act won't get you anywhere with me, Potter."

I noticed with a smirk that his green eyes had grown considerably darker, now bordering on a forest green. Turning once again, I walked in the direction I had been heading previously, a small smile playing upon my lips.

_That_ would teach him not to mess with me…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Jorsten, Canyos!"

A small pause ensued after Professor McGonagal's booming voice sounded, and a first-year made his way onto the crude stool set in the middle of the hall.

Almost as soon as the hat touched his head of unruly chesnut curls, it announced, "SLYTHERIN!"

I sat in my seat, eyes half-lidded under the midnight sky that loomed above us in the Great Hall. Several obnoxious boys hooted and made pumping gestures at the air as the boy walked toward the Slytherin table, clapping him on the back and making room for him on the side-benches of the table.

After I shot them a dull glare, they quieted considerably, settling for quiet congratulations to the boy. As their silence became prolonged, the first-year glanced at me, stormy grey eyes suspicious. I offered a smirk before resting me head on the table, tracing nonsense patterns on the polished oak tabletop.

They would fill him in later, I was sure. They _all_ found out sooner or later.

With a sigh, I tried to filter out all the background noise, resting half of my feverish face upon the cool wood. It only took a minute or two until I succumbed to that endless void that no mortal can possibly resist…

Pureblood or not.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -


End file.
